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She ran as if the legions of hell were close on her heels. Her eyes fixed on the light that burned like a single star in a black sky, drawing her towards it. Sweat trickled down her forehead as the sun scorched her beautiful fair skin mercilessly and yet, she didn’t concede. The legs supporting her already fatigued body were unsteady. Wait!, her inner voice shrilled as the light began to falter, becoming less pivotal, less important. Utilizing all the skills she obtained from her brief stint in the track team, she strode forcefully, causing stabs of pain to shoot along her Achilles’ heels.

A figure cut into her vision of the light, a figure swathed in a hideous frock of purple and green, whose limbs slowly proceeded to the door, recalling it back to its original position.

“Wait!” she echoed her mental conscience as the door began to slide. The man in the abomination of a uniform looked up, his eyes surprised but as he took in her familiar face, her clothes in disarray and her hair disheveled, a look of condescension crossed his face. His lips tightened in manifestation of his irritation, she was sure.

“Mr. Badingo, I am so sor-” she started as she came within an inch of the bakery, the bright infrared light coming from the oven nearly blinding her. Mr. Badingo waved an arm, clearly dismissing her apologies, which was a relief, because she had none; she had used it all up the previous week. The physical exertion came to a standstill as she arrived at the half-closed door and so began the mental exertion as her fragile wits and not to mention, heart, braved against Mr. Badingo’s thunderous red face, malicious words of poison just ready to spring forward from the tight line that was his lip. Wiping her sweaty forehead with deceiving calm, she walked in; heavy reluctance etched in her every move.

The Bimbo